Snatchers: Volume Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 4-6)

by Shaun Whittington

  "Shut up," Vince called out to them, gripping his crowbar. "I need to handle these two myself."

  As soon as Vince advanced five yards, something made the first creature stumble towards him with more speed than it was showing beforehand. He swung the metal contraption at the first one, its head obliterating into a gooey mess. It hit the floor, and Vince gave it two more blows as it lay motionless, with its head smashed to shit.

  The second ghoul had become a little excited—if that was at all possible—that it was just a matter of yards from feeding on the warm flesh of a human being, but it never got the chance. Vince could see that the beast was, or used to be, a female, and her body shape saddened him. She looked heavily pregnant, at least eight months, and it confused Vince.

  When she turned, did the baby also turn inside of her, or did it just die?

  It was sometimes hard to tell with some of them, but Vince guessed that she could have been a beautiful young woman. But now she was a dead mess.

  She wore a heavily bloodstained dress, had ripped tights that showed her ashen and bruised legs, and had a couple of fingers missing from her right hand. Maybe she had attacked someone in the past and the potential victim had hacked her fingers away while she attempted to grab them.

  Vince puffed out his cheeks and swung his bar at the woman, putting her down immediately. He could see she was still twitching, and turned the bloodstained crowbar around, holding the hook-end, and rammed it straight through her skull. Vince pulled out the weapon and crouched down to inspect her. "Damn shame."

  He then stood up quickly and took a step back.

  He could have sworn he saw movement from within her stomach. Surely not. He gazed at her stomach, but no more movement could be seen.

  Did he really see it move? Was it his imagination?

  There wasn't a chance that a human baby could survive inside a woman that had turned; if there was movement, the baby inside must have been one of them as well.

  It didn't seem right that a baby of the dead was inside the thing, and with his anger dwindling, it was eventually replaced with sadness. Despite his despondency, he swung the crowbar back and began to batter at the ball-shaped stomach of the dead woman. Strike after strike smashed into the stomach where a healthy baby should have been, and the bar was soaked in dark blood as it smashed through the woman's exposed, bloodied and mutilated belly.

  The crowbar had pounded the area so much that there wasn't a hint that a baby could ever have been in there as the area had been so mashed up, but he didn't want to take a closer look in case he caught a glimpse of a little arm or a small foot. He was sure that that sight could break him.

  Keeping his eyes away from the belly, he wiped the crowbar on the dress of the dead beast and went back to the line of defence. When Vince returned to the barrier and went through the HGV's cab to the other side of the blockade, he climbed onto the second one that was stretched along the road. He was now facing the other end, the way in to Brereton and Rugeley town.

  Vince gripped the crowbar tightly with both hands and could see that the staggering, blood-soaked Rotter had another fifty yards to gain before reaching the barrier.

  "Give it another minute," a guard to Vince's right spoke, "and I'll take its head off, then we'll burn all three."

  "Don't bother." Vince looked to his left at the other guard. He was one of the guards that had gone with Vince to remove the remaining ghouls at the Ash Tree area. "You saw the state of that place when we rammed those fuckers. Let's only use the guns if it's absolutely necessary." Vince then joked, "I'm gonna take care of this one as well, seems as though I'm on a roll."

  The man to the right turned to Vince. "I thought you said using the guns was a safer option, and that we shouldn't take any risks."

  "Yeah, well, things have changed now. We've always had the odd one that would turn up, but a mile away there was a gang of the fuckers. Any loud bangs in future could create hordes coming our way, and we're hardly blessed with an abundance of ammo."

  "Even if a shit-load came here, they wouldn't get past the HGVs or the massive hedge that surrounds the place."

  "Maybe. But these people need to feel safe." Vince climbed down, crowbar in hand. He looked up to the men and added, "Getting up on a morning and having fifty Rotters outside isn't going to help with their nerves, especially with the older ones, whether they can get in or not."

  "Maybe we should get two men with a vehicle each and they could drive five hundred yards away. One goes five hundred yards, heading for Armitage. The other goes five hundred yards towards the Ash Tree, seem as though we can't see over the road in both directions," one guard said, "and they can warn the people at the barrier that there are Rotters, or whatever, coming our way."

  "Already thought of that. And now we've got the people," Vince spoke with a croak in his voice, then quickly cleared it and spat on the floor, "we can start and do that tomorrow. The camp is great, but we've always been vulnerable because we are on a dip in the road. Even in the old world, the pubs and caravans used to suffer whenever we had storms. We always got flooded."

  Vince then turned his attention again to the lone beast making its way down towards the obstruction in the road that they had created. He grew angry once more thinking of Jack's death, and was ready to come face-to-face with another putrid-smelling member of the dead.

  He walked forwards, now only yards from the staggering creature, and then stopped walking altogether. He stared at the bloody face, its body shape, and its short brown hair. Although it was a mess, it looked familiar. He recognised the face—at least he thought he recognised the face, and had to glare at the thing to make sure; to make absolute sure.

  Vince lowered the crowbar and rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn't imagining things. The glare of the sun was also not helping as he squinted at the thing that still continued to slowly lumber towards him. There was a lot of blood on the thing's clothes and its neck was covered in black liquid.

  Vince scanned the body for any wounds or bites, but couldn't see any. Vince didn't want to wait to the last second to see if it really was a Rotter, and he didn't want to strike the thing if it wasn't a member of the dead either.

  Vince knew they couldn't talk, or understand the English language—any language for that matter, so he decided to try something out. He called out, "Stop!"

  The thing stopped walking.

  "Turn around."

  It slowly turned around and stopped once its back was facing Vince.

  "Face the front."

  It did as it was told. Vince could see the thing licking its lips as if it was about to speak. Its knees buckled with exhaustion, but it managed to stay on its feet, just.

  "Vince," it finally said.

  Vincent Kindl took a step forward to get a better look and said, "Well, suck me sideways."

  *

  His head was pounding. His lips were dry and his throat felt like rust.

  After climbing over the small fence, he was now on the road and saw the incline that needed to be completed in order get over the brow of the hill. He looked ahead, wondering if he was ever going to make it. Fuck it. He'd come this far.

  In the exhausted state he was in, his walk to the peak of the hill felt like the equivalent of walking through thick porridge with heavy boots on.

  When he arrived at the start of the incline, even the first few steps were a struggle. Getting used to the smell of guts and blood that he was caked in, he panted heavily as he struggled his way up the road. The sun beating down was burning his neck as if someone was behind him with a blowtorch, and he had already pissed in his pants earlier before climbing over the field's fence to get to the main road.

  His feet dragged and his thighs felt like they had been punched. They didn't even feel like his legs anymore. He was numb.

  As he reached the top of the hill he looked down to see a HGV, the camp to the right, and a hedge that surrounded the camp.

  He stumbled to the floor as the road began to decline
. He then slowly picked himself back up and heard panicky shouting from two men that stood on top of the HGV.

  He'd been spotted.

  One of them disappeared, and he wondered if he was going to get shot. Despite his exhaustion, he was mentally aware that with the condition he was in, and the stuff over his body, he could quite easily be mistaken for a Snatcher.

  If only he could shout out.

  After spending a long minute staggering towards the blockade, he looked up at the HGV once more to see that there were three men there, one of them was climbing down onto the road. He tried to yell, but his throat was so dry that nothing came out apart from a small croak.

  The man from the camp was now strolling in his direction, holding a crowbar. He then stopped walking altogether. He licked his lips to speak again when he heard the man call out, "Stop!"

  He did as he was told.

  "Turn around!"

  He adhered to this command, then realised he could be seconds away from getting a crowbar in the back of his head.

  But I obeyed his stop command, so surely he must know by now I'm human. These things don't understand language.

  "Face the front!"

  As soon as he was facing the man again, he recognised his face. He finally managed to release a word from his lips. "Vince."

  The man from the camp glared in disbelief and said, "Well, suck me sideways. Pickle?"

  He dropped the crowbar to the floor, and as it made a noisy clatter the two guards on the HGV yelled at Vince, wondering what the hell he was doing. Vince placed both hands on Pickle's head, stunned by the presence of the person in front of him. "But you were bit. I saw you go down."

  "I got out," Pickle said in a hoarse voice.

  "I saw the teeth..." Vince was baffled, and couldn't find the words to finish the sentence.

  "I was lucky," was all the explanation Pickle could muster. He didn't have the energy to go into detail about the young boy that had slashed him at the field near Cardboard Hill, and the thick bandage saving him. That would have to wait at a later date, preferably when he had been showered, fed and had had a lie down.

  Vince burst out laughing and exclaimed, "I don't know how the fuck you did it, but...you did!"

  "I've had plenty of practice."

  Pickle's eyes closed slowly as if he was about to fall asleep, and he staggered a little to the left.

  "Come on." Vince held out his hand. "We're gonna get you cleaned up."

  "Karen?"

  "Karen's here," Vince snickered and said further, "She's gonna piss herself when she sees you."

  Pickle raised a small smile, staggered a little, then collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Vince took Pickle somewhere to clean up and gave him fresh clothes. He took the exhausted man back to his caravan and told him to have a lie on the couch while he went to fetch Shaz and Karen.

  "Where are they both?" asked Pickle.

  Vince hesitated for a second, then finally revealed, "They're at the back of the camp, near...Jack's grave."

  Pickle had managed to obtain a sudden burst of life and sat up quickly. "Jack's dead?"

  Vince nodded sadly.

  "How?"

  "He was bit." Vince had no other words to go into detail about the end of Jack Slade. He was bit was all he could manage.

  "I suppose yer could call it natural causes these days, or unnatural causes." Pickle stroked his stubbly chin and puffed out a sigh filled with gloom. "Poor Jack."

  "It hit Shaz hard."

  "And you, by the looks o' things."

  Vince began to protest, "I hardly knew him."

  "Come on, Vince." Pickle glared at the man, knowing he wasn't fooling anyone. "Why don't yer drop the hard-man routine? Doesn't matter how tough yer think yer are, we all have feelings."

  Pickle stood to his weary feet and Vince asked, "Where're you going? You should be resting."

  "I've got all day to rest." Pickle waved Vince away, and headed for the door. "I'm gonna go see the girls. Wanna take a walk? I could do with yer holding me up, if it's needed."

  Vince groaned, knowing that it was pointless arguing with the man. "Okay. Let me take a piss first."

  *

  "I wonder what's gonna happen in the winter?"

  Shaz's question threw Karen. She thought that it was a bizarre, out-of-the-blue thing to say.

  "Just make sure we're wrapped up and we'll be fine." Karen shrugged, not knowing the real answer. "Let's see how July pans out for us first," she laughed. "I barely got through June."

  Shaz nodded, and seemed to be in a world of her own. Her thoughts drifted and began thinking about Spencer. "I just think it's something worth thinking about."

  "I agree. The nights are gonna draw in, the temperature will drop, and there'll be less places to raid when we go out on runs, because in a few month's time they'll be nothing left."

  "And February you'll be ready to pop out Junior," Shaz giggled, trying to make light of the situation.

  Karen smiled. "That's something I won't be looking forward to."

  "Maybe we're in the best place." Shaz nodded to Karen's stomach.

  "I hope so."

  "Girls." Vince called out.

  Karen and Shaz turned round in unison and with both pairs of disbelieving eyes trying to take in what they were witnessing, Shaz was the first to react while Karen twisted her face to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

  "How? When?" Shaz wasn't making much sense and could see both men, Pickle and Vince, grinning at her reaction, almost enjoying it. "How did you escape?"

  "I'll tell yer about it later." Pickle smiled, but it was apparent that the man was unsteady on his feet. Vince had his arm linked into Pickle's, and Vince beckoned Shaz to take a walk with him to leave Pickle alone with Karen.

  Shaz walked over to Harry Branston, tears streaming down her face. She leaned over and kissed him on his stubbly cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."

  "Thanks." Pickle's eyeballs became glassy and he struggled with his comment, "I'm really sorry about Jack."

  "Me too."

  "At least he's with Thomas now."

  "I hope so." Shaz placed her hand on Pickle's shoulder and took a walk with Vince.

  Pickle was left alone with Karen, behind her was the eight foot hedge that wrapped around the whole camp, and four feet behind her was Jack Slade's shallow grave.

  Pickle revealed a wide grin and called out, "Alright, Bradley?"

  She nodded slowly, her eyes were as wide as saucers, wondering if this was just a cruel dream. She was scared to blink in case he suddenly disappeared.

  She took a slow stroll over to him and stood a foot away, studying his face. She placed the palm of her shaking hand on his cheek, and he did the same to her.

  "Come here." He held out his arms, waiting for Karen to embrace him. She hesitated at first, but finally took a step forward and put her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his muscular back.

  It was him. It was definitely him.

  She took a deep breath in and once she felt his hands touch her back, she broke down. Her shoulders shuddered, her tears rolled down her cheeks, and she squeezed him tighter.

  "You're really here," she cried, and repeated, "you're really here."

  "Yes I am." He sniffed the top of her hair and gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her head that she never felt. He rubbed her back while she sobbed, and allowed her ample time to break away from him. She was upset, pleased, confused and overjoyed, but she was also in shock. It was a lot of emotions to take in at one time.

  Once they finally broke away from their embrace, Pickle studied her features and began wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. Another tear fell, and his thumb wiped it away before it rolled off her chin. Another fell, and he did the same, making her smile.

  Karen looked at him, and the twenty-three-year-old had to ask, "How did you do it?"

  "I was lucky." He chuckled and added, "as soon as I've had a sleep, I'll tell yer a
ll about it."

  He didn't have the energy to tell Karen about fleeing the horde, escaping into the woods, then being attacked by more of the dead. At a later date he would eventually tell her about bumping into her saviour, Tommy, who unfortunately lost his life when they tried to flee the area, and then making the perilous journey to the camp, on foot.

  "It's been a mad couple o' days," he said, with a sad smile on his face.

  "We'll never be really safe, will we?" She had lost her smile, and her voice was full of self-pity, but had a tinge of realism.

  "I have no idea, Karen. If we can get through the end o' the year, I think we stand a chance of surviving in the long term. I haven't been given the guided tour yet, but Vince has generators, a well, animals—a good set-up."

  Karen sniffed hard, and said, "He has a shit-load of back-up supplies of water and gas canisters, as well as tins of food. I think he's been brutal when it comes to the runs he's been doing, but now we're here, we can have the benefits of it as well."

  "I thought yer didn't like him?"

  "We got split up and he came back for me and Shaz." Karen looked around at the camp and released a short laugh. "Plus, he has his uses."

  Pickle staggered a little and Karen grabbed a hold of his waist. "Come on. Let's get you some rest. No doubt Vince will have plans for you this week. I heard him mention something about a food factory in Fradley that might be worth a try."

  "He'll have to wait," Pickle snickered. "I could sleep for a week. I think he said he was gonna put me in caravan eleven."

  "It's just there." Karen pointed.

  Seeing the caravan ahead that he had been given, Pickle stopped walking and asked, "Where's Wolf staying?"

  "He never made it."

  "How?"

  "It's..." She couldn't find the words to start the story, and she knew that Pickle didn't have the energy to listen to it. "Later," Karen said with words saturated in sadness. She placed her hand on her tummy. "After all the crap me and Shaz have been through, it seems the baby is still hanging in there. Need to get past these few weeks and I can relax a little."